What the hell. They road among the orange glow of the lamps of that town. As dusk came on so did the kerosene lamps and the wooden logs and the candles in the windows. The town sliding into that final contemplation by wooden fire. The illuminated faces of the men and women of the town and their conversation that Joe and Richard were not privy to. Who was trustworthy and who wasn't. Joe wondered if any of them were worth knowing. You get one true friend in this life and that's it. One is plenty.
 You gonna marry that girl?
 I don't know. No.
 She was nice enough.
 Nice enough.
 Her daddy don't like you.
 She's been raised under his wing I guess. She don't got a mother. All she's got is him and him her. It's not up to him to like me.
 There's no arguing with him.
 No, no arguin. Have to be a fool.
 No point in budding your head against it.
 No point in it.
 You have any plans on impressing him?
 There's always plans. All it takes is time. I can't say I see myself regrettin it.
 You think she's worth it.
 Don't see how she aint. Maybe this town aint.
 The lights of the towns set aglow the dust that hung in the air above them. The circumstances that each family of the plains finds itself in and the politics among the households. The smell of poorly hidden contempt. Rotting hatred. It hung above the towns like a stinking wretched halo. Blood feuds and stories of murder in the street. That in a man which convinces him to kill another man. That which deems a man deserving of death. That in the clowns that sought Richard out and what it was they knew about him.

 Richard asked Joe what he thought was the matter with the clowns.
 I think they were just looking for a fight.
 What the hell.
 I think they knew you wouldn't do anything crazy.
 Or you wouldn't let me.
 I wouldn't let you make a fool of yourself.
 God.
 I don't mean to call you a fool, you aren't one. But they had a good look at both of us. They saw the knives, they saw the shotgun. They know what town they're in. There was something in em not worth scaring up.
 They're just men.
 Joe watched Richard, he watched the towns. Out there some of the lights disappearing like ships into a storm. The remaining darkness as if reclaimed by the planes if not for the restless ambition in the hearts of the people who indeed lay claim to that land.
 Joe stopped his horse. There's gonna be rain.
 There already is. Richard held out his palm and took account of the rain. Wont last.
 No more dust over the towns and yet more lights disappearing. The evidence of their existence receding to the void and yet the people's essence remained. The hierarchy of the planes persists. Status lost and won in the economy of rumor and intrigue. Hearsay shifting the petty hearts of those who turn the soil and obey the changing tide of the seasons that looms over the story of their lives in and out of fortune on the prairie of the Southwest. That in a people that gives them the strength. What myth of themselves they are reduced to inventing.
 There's types of people out there you can't pretend to understand, Richard. Can't underestimate.
 You think they're killers?
 No. They're not killers.
 So what is it about them that can't be scared.
 Scare em with what.
 Richard lifted the closing flap of his satchel and tossed the revolver at Joe.
 Joe held the thing in his hands. Heavy and cold. Something to be found in a soldier's hand, a deputy's. Some kind of pretense about it. He gave it back. He asked if Richard knew why he never carried a gun. Because he never met any fucking killers.
 Joe turned the horse in the direction of their homes and asked joe about the girl


There's types of men out there you can't pretend to understand.
You think they were killers?
No. 

What the hell.
 In Richard's eye reflected the lights of the town. As night came on so did the lights. The town sliding into that final contemplation by wooden fire. The faces of the people half illuminated in their places of living and their conversation that Joe was not privy to. Who was trustworthy and who wasn't. You get one friend in this life and that's it. One is plenty.
 You gonna marry that girl?
 I don't know. No.
 She was nice enough.
 Nice enough.
 Her daddy don't like you.
 She's been raised under his wing I guess. She don't got a mother. All she's got is him and him her. It's not up to him to like me.
 There's no arguing with him.
 No, no arguin. Have to be a fool.
 No point in budding your head against it.
 No point in it.
 You got any plans on impressing him?
 There's always plans. All it takes is time. I can't say I see myself regrettin it.
 You think she's worth it.
 Got to be. Don't see how she aint. Maybe this town aint.
 The lights of the town set aglow the dust that hung in the air above them. The circumstances that each family finds itself in and the politics among the households. The smell of poorly hidden contempt. Rotting hatred. Stories of murder in the street.

 That in a man which convinces him to kill another man. That which deems a man deserving of death. That in the clowns that sought Richard out and what it was they knew about him.

 Richard asked Joe what he thought was the matter with the clowns.
 I think they were just looking for a fight.
 What the hell.
 I think they knew you wouldn't do anything crazy.
 Or you wouldn't let me.
 I wouldn't let you make a fool of yourself.
 God.
 I don't mean to call you a fool, you aren't one. But they had a good look at both of us. They saw the knives, they saw the guns scabbards on our horses. They knew what town they're in. There was something in em not worth scaring up.
 They're just men.

What the hell.

 As they rode the town sliding into that final contemplation by wooden fire. The people's faces aglow in orange light and their conversation that Joe and Richard were not privy to. Who was trustworthy and who wasn't. Joe wondered if any of them were worth knowing. You get one friend in this world and that's it. 

 You gonna marry that girl?

 I don't know. No.

 The lights of the towns set aglow the dust that hung in the air above them. The circumstances that each family finds itself in and the politics among the households. The smell of poorly hidden contempt. It hovered over the towns like a wretched halo. You think everything's calm and then you hear of a murder. That in a man which convinces him to kill another man, that which deems a man deserving of death. That in the clowns that sought Richard out and what it was they knew about him.

 Richard asked Joe what he thought was the matter with the clowns.

 I think they were just lookin for a fight. I think they knew you wouldn't do anything crazy.

 Or you wouldn't let me. 

 I wouldn't let you make a fool of yourself. 

 God. 

 Something about the way Richard sat, the way he held the rains. Joe watched him, he watched the towns. The lights from the towns reflected dully in Richard's eye, in the metal parts of his gear. Out there some of the lights disappearing like ships into a storm. The remaining darkness as if reclaimed by the plains but for the restless ambition in the hearts of those who indeed occupy that land. 

 It's gonna rain.

 Joe held out his palm and took account of the rain. Not much rain. Won't last. He breathed in the damp air. The halo formed above the towns by the luminous dust had gone and yet more lights disappearing. He thought hard on whether there was anything to be gained from seeing two clowns scared. He asked Richard what he thought could bring fear into their hearts. Richard lifted the flap of the leather satchel in the rear of his saddle and tossed the revolver to Joe. Joe held the thing in his hand. Heavy and cold. Something to be found in a soldier's hand or a deputy's. There was a pretense in it. He asked if Richard knew why he never carried a gun. Richard didn't know and he said because there's no killers around here.